Page 69 of Fragments of the Lost
“Ashlyn Patterson?” I ask, though I already know it’s her. I’m blocking her exit, and it makes me feel powerful. “We’re here about Caleb.”
She shakes her head, looking between me and Max. “I don’t know any Caleb.”
“I remember you,” Max says. “From a lacrosse game last spring. And she remembers you from a ski trip.”
She looks between the two of us again, presses her lips together, undecided.
“Look,” I say, “we’re just looking for answers. I just want to know how you know him. That’s all.”
“You’re the girlfriend,” she says, matter-of-factly.
“Jessa,” I say, nodding.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she adds, and then she looks away.
“How did you know him, Ashlyn?”
“Look, I just really don’t want to be involved, okay?”
Involved in what?is what I’m thinking. But I can’t just shake it out of her.
“I only want to know how you know him,” I say. “I found your things in his room.” That letter, at least, is a ticket in.
“My things?” she says. “I’ve never even been there.” Then she relents, falling back into her chair, shifting it back and forth so the squeak fills the room. “I met him by accident,” she says, “when he came by my house a few years ago. But I’ve never been to his place.”
“He came by your house, though?”
“Yeah. To see my dad. He’s an estate attorney, has an office out of his home, and Caleb and his mom meet with him once a year or so, to go over finances or something. I don’t know. Anyway, we were young, and we hung out a couple times. But we lived so far away, and I mean, neither of us could drive or anything.” She shrugs. “We just kind of…faded. I was devastated at the time. But it is what it is, right? We were just kids. It was mostly just emails and phone calls, anyway.”
“You never sent him any letters? On paper?”
She frowns. “Letters? No.”
“You didn’t ask him to come see you?”
“No. Not at all. It was the other way around.”
My stomach twists. I hate her answer. That Caleb was the one pursuing. “Then why did you pretend you didn’t know him?” I ask. “You could’ve just said that.”
“Itoldyou. I don’t want to be involved. I did something for him. It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t think anything of it. But now that he’s gone, I don’t know. If anyone finds out, my dad could lose his job.”
“What did you do?”
But she’s already shaking her head, in denial. “I’m not even sure what I showed him, even. It’s just the setup of his trust. I figured he’d seen it before, so what was the harm?” Her hand goes to her mouth. “But now I don’t know. I don’t know what I did. He died a few weeks later, and I’m worried it was related, even though that doesn’t make sense. I’m worried it was somehow because of me.” She covers her face with both hands.
“What’sbecause of you?” I ask, but I know I’m coming on too strong, because I am. I’m angry, I’m strong, and I wantanswers.
“It’s probably not,” she adds, taking a deep breath. “It’s probably just because he’s dead, and he was my first boyfriend, and now my dad has to deal with the paperwork once probate’s up, and I’m feeling this weight of guilt. So, you see? I just want nothing to do with it. I don’t want to get pulled in. I’ve got colleges I’m applying for, and I don’t want my name in the news.” She points to the computers. “I’m studying journalism. I mean, the last thing I need is to become part of the news first.”
But I don’t see. I don’t see at all.
“What was he looking for?” I whisper.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. My dad says trusts are funny. They can say whatever the person wants, deciding when thebeneficiary is able to get the money themselves. I figured he had already seen it, and was just checking details.” She shrugs. “It looked normal enough to me, though. Pretty basic. Guardian until twenty-five. All the typicalstuff.”
“Twenty-five?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, that’s not so bad. My dad says for some people, it goes a lot longer.”
